Champion turkey caller leads Pocono hunt

Through the morning grogginess, I was excited for this day, the opener of the Pennsylvania spring gobbler season.

My good friend Jason Farmer from Pocono Summit was bringing a junior Pennsylvania and national champion turkey caller, 15-year-old Hunter Wallis of Greenfield Township, along for the hunt.

Let me interject that Wallis' experience saved me about a dozen times on this day. I also fully understand why he's a champion caller, and I usually sit and swipe at ticks.

So, the three of us march into the woods before the sunrise in the hopes of hearing a turkey gobble. Ten minutes later we're heading in the direction of a bird.

He's a ways away — a long way.

"That bird's gonna be dead in an hour," Wallis said after we put out two decoys.

I'm thinking that bird is in the next county and Hunter is feeling the effects of three hours sleep.

An hour later, this gobbler — from across a road over 500 yards away — is 70 yards and closing. But with a jake decoy and a hen, he's leery. This bird didn't get to be 3 years old by being dumb.

He skirts around just out of the range of my 12-gauge shotgun, and eventually walks away. I'm smiling from the strutting show the gobbler put on, crying that it didn't end with a bang.

Take two.

We gather our decoys and loop around, trying to get in front of this tom a second time. This time he's hooked up with a hen.

He's gobbling like mad — seriously, he won't shut up. Against the morning sunlight, this tom has the bluest head I've ever seen.

My heart is pounding — he's 70 yards, 60 yards, 50 yards — his tail feathers are fanned out, gobbling all the way. Hunter, sitting to my left and singing a sweet turkey tune I could never hum, is talking me through step by step.

I think Wallis told me, "wait, not yet, he's coming to the decoy," a dozen times.

This time we had just set out only the hen decoy and I guess it was too tempting. The live hen wasn't interested, walking right on by, while "old tom" thought two hens were better than one.

At 40 yards, and feeling that the gobbler was about to leave, Wallis finally gave me the OK. Game over.

There is nothing quite like a turkey kill celebration. It's a little World Series victory, a little relief, a little adrenaline all wrapped in one.

We high-fived because we all knew we worked for this 21-pound tom with a nine-inch beard, calling him further than any I've ever seen — not once but twice.

It was a great connection with an old friend, Farmer, who introduced me years ago to turkey hunting. It was also a fantastic connection with a new friend — a 15-year-old with more poise than many adults.

And I was stuck in the middle, thankful for the opportunity to experience it all.